


Trust

by the_ocean_burned



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew is also v insecure, Andrew trusts Neil, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Warnings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's Andrew guys, Scars, and so everything that comes with his character shows up in here, someone please wrap this boy in a warm blanket and protect him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ocean_burned/pseuds/the_ocean_burned
Summary: Andrew trusts Neil with a lot of things, and Neil knows it.





	

Neil knew Andrew trusted him, no matter how vehemently Andrew denied it. He knew it because Andrew’s quiet, vaguely hesitant _no_ ’s had become fewer and further between. He knew it because Andrew had taken to reaching across the mattress and touching his fingertips to Neil’s just before he fell asleep; even though he withdrew his hand later in the night, Neil knew all too well how much trust even that tiny amount of physical contact took to initiate when Andrew felt he was most vulnerable. He knew it because when it was just the two of them in the dorm room, Andrew wore t-shirts and left his armbands and his knives on top of their dresser.

Andrew didn’t let Neil touch the scars, though. Neil wasn’t allowed to grab at Andrew’s arms below the elbow, no matter what. Neil accepted this; it made sense. Of course, he would have accepted this even if it hadn’t, but Neil remembered how Drake had pinned Andrew’s arms above his head by his wrists too vividly for his liking. Neil didn’t want to know if this had been a trend throughout all of Andrew’s foster families. For once, he understood the saying _ignorance is bliss._

Just because Neil didn’t know what had gone on in those houses didn’t mean Andrew didn’t remember, and it certainly didn’t mean that it had affected Andrew any less. Neil had seen how hard the nightmares and the flashbacks hit Andrew. Neil was a light sleeper, so all of the jagged, muffled gasps that Andrew let slip from behind his palm as he woke up from a nightmare woke Neil, too. Neil never let on that he was awake, for fear of making it worse for Andrew, but Neil was still able to feel it when Andrew trembled so hard that the blankets shook, and he could still hear Andrew’s breathy murmurs to himself in German about how he was safe, about how Neil wouldn’t hurt him. It was those that always made Neil want to cry. At least Andrew knew that Neil wouldn’t hurt him. It didn’t make it any easier for Neil to lay there, less than a foot away from Andrew, and not reach out to him.

Neil wouldn’t know how to console Andrew, anyway, even if he would let himself. There was nothing Neil could say that would make the abuse Andrew had suffered less traumatic.

When Andrew had Neil pinned to a wall, though, it was easier to let Andrew know he was loved. Neil was all too aware that Andrew’s image of himself had been twisted into something dark and awful by cruelty, and he hated it with a passion that surprised even him. Neil figured he would get stabbed if he tried to show how much Andrew meant to him verbally, but kissing Andrew was an entirely different story.

When Andrew kissed Neil, Neil could kiss back and return every ounce of fervor Andrew gave him and then some. He could thread his fingers through Andrew’s hair and pull him closer, could kiss him so hard that Neil’s lips felt like they were on fire. Neil could show Andrew how much he was needed instead of having to fumble awkwardly with clunky words to try and tell him.

Neil knew that Andrew liked taking him apart, little by little, with his hands and his mouth, and Neil hoped that Andrew knew that Neil liked it, too. Then again, Neil also knew that Andrew wouldn’t do anything that he didn’t think Neil liked. It was the same as when Neil refused to touch Andrew without a firm _yes_ or _no._ It was the same as when Neil wouldn’t move his hands from Andrew’s hair without explicit permission. It was respect, and concern, and protectiveness, and love. Neil was always hesitant to think that word, _love,_ but he didn’t have any other name for what lived between him and Andrew.

He’d be skewered if he said it out loud, though, so he kept that particular sentiment confined to his head.

Some nights, Andrew would be a little more relaxed and a little more secure in his own skin and Neil would be freer to touch, to explore Andrew’s back and chest and shoulders. Andrew’s skin was unmarked, compared to Neil’s; most of Andrew’s scars were on his arms, and there were a few on his legs. Neil’s were everywhere. The difference was that Neil didn’t mind looking at his own scars – most of them had been around for so long that they didn’t affect him anymore. Looking at Andrew’s, however, made Neil want to find every single person who had driven Andrew to the point of causing himself that much pain and rip their throats out. Neil hated that Andrew had felt that _that,_ of all things, was the only way to have some sort of control over how much he hurt.

Neil never mentioned this to Andrew, though. He didn’t want Andrew to think that Neil held any sort of contempt for his coping methods. After all, Neil wasn’t much better – his way of coping was to run until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. That wasn’t exactly healthy, either.

But it still hurt more than any dashboard lighter or tattoo gun when Neil looked at the scars on Andrew’s arms and remembered why Andrew had given them to himself.

But Neil never pushed, never rushed Andrew. He would never do to Andrew what Drake had done to Andrew. And because of that, he knew that Andrew trusted him, at least to an extent, and that was more than Andrew had ever given anyone, as far as Neil knew. Andrew’s trust wasn’t something Neil fully believed he deserved, but he took it anyway and cradled it close to his chest, careful and gentle. _I will not be like them,_ he thought every time Andrew allowed Neil to crowd him carefully against a wall and every time Andrew allowed Neil’s fingers to carefully map out a new expanse of his skin. _I won’t let him hurt like that again._

And yet, even though Neil knew that Andrew trusts him, it was a surprise when Andrew brought Neil’s hand to his wrist and murmured, “Here is okay.”

Raising his eyebrows in shock, Neil looked Andrew in the eye, making sure that Andrew really wanted this. Even though Andrew’s hands were shaking ever so slightly and his breath was a tiny bit faster than usual, his eyes, gold in the light of the lamp sitting on their bedside table, were determined and steady. Neil nodded.

“Alright.”

Slowly, Neil brushed his fingertips lightly against the lines of Andrew’s scars. His eyes darted up to Andrew’s face again when Andrew jolted a little and his breath hitched. Andrew’s eyes were closed.

“Andrew?”

Andrew just shook his head, though he did open his eyes again. “You’re good.”

This time Neil maintained eye contact as he stroked his fingers gently over Andrew’s arm, running his fingertips from Andrew’s wrist to his elbow and back again. Andrew’s hands were both shaking, and the one not resting on his knee while Neil traced a path up that arm was fisted in the sheets.

Neil moved to pull his hand away, thinking that Andrew was pushing himself too far again for the sake of trying to be okay, and Andrew’s gaze sharpened. “I didn’t say you had to stop.”

“Andrew—”

Andrew shook his head. “It’s still a yes, Neil. I’d tell you if that changed.”

Still a little apprehensive, Neil nodded. _Andrew knows how to make you stop,_ he reminded himself.

Neil gently set his hand atop the one Andrew had fisted in the sheet, then returned his fingers to Andrew’s wrist. Andrew’s breath hitched again, but Neil only pressed his hand flat against the inside of Andrew’s arm. He didn’t curl his fingers around Andrew’s wrist – he knew what he was being given, and he wasn’t going to even get close to what Andrew could consider restraint when Andrew’s _yes_ was already shaky enough as it was – but he rested them on Andrew’s arm lengthwise. Andrew released a shuddering sigh and relaxed visibly when Neil didn’t make any attempt to hold his arm still.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence, Neil stroking gentle patterns against Andrew’s skin and Andrew following Neil’s fingertips with wary eyes. It was soft and Neil was well aware of how much trust it took for Andrew to allow this.

“Can I kiss them?”

It was clear that Neil’s question had taken Andrew by surprise, because he glanced up, his eyes visibly wider than normal, his expression quietly guarded. Neil met Andrew’s gaze steadily, fully expecting a _no_ in response. But Andrew took a quiet second to consider, then slowly nodded.

Neil gently brought Andrew’s knuckles to his lips, holding Andrew’s gaze firmly. When Andrew didn’t react, Neil turned his wrist over, gentle and slow and careful not to ever fully wrap his fingers around Andrew’s wrist.

“Yes or no?”

Again, Andrew hesitated before responding. “Yes.”

Neil pressed his lips lightly to Andrew’s wrist, right over one of the smaller scars. Every muscle in Andrew’s body tensed and he tugged his wrist away from Neil. His hands had started shaking again. Andrew shook his head, croaking out a quiet _no_ as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Guilt threated to suffocate Neil. “Shit. I’m sorry, Andrew. I didn’t mean—”

Andrew shook his head again. “Not you, not you. Not your fault.”

Despite what Andrew said, Neil didn’t miss how close to hyperventilating Andrew was. Angry with himself for doing exactly what he had tried not to do, Neil moved to stand, but Andrew reached out and caught Neil’s hand in his own. Slowly, Neil sat back down.

Andrew took a few seconds to get his breathing – and, presumably, his emotions – back under control, then opened his eyes. They were still clouded with a vague, awful sort of fear that Neil wished he could erase.

“That wasn’t you,” Andrew said again. “Not your fault.”

Neil understood. Andrew had pushed himself too far, too fast, without realizing he wasn’t ready. Silently, Neil held out a hand to Andrew. It wasn’t a question, just an offer. Andrew took Neil’s hand and squeezed it gently. It was his way of saying _thank you for staying_ and _I’m sorry._

Neil scooted around so that he was beside Andrew, back to the wall. After a moment, Andrew rested his head carefully on Neil’s shoulder. His eyes were tired in a dark, sad sort of way that Neil wanted to kiss away.

“Proust,” Andrew said after several minutes of relatively comfortable silence.

Neil looked down at him curiously but didn’t interrupt.

“Proust bit them.” Andrew’s brows furrowed slightly and he tensed again, nervous. His voice was soft, probably not intentionally, but Neil could hear the underlying fear.

Anger rose in Neil’s chest, black and red and ugly. Andrew had cut his wrists open time and time again for some semblance of control in the hellscape of his childhood, and Proust had no doubt destroyed that for him. Neil wanted to kill him. Unfortunately, he was already dead, courtesy of Ichirou, so Neil couldn’t make him suffer like he wanted to.

“He can’t hurt you anymore.” Neil’s voice was soft, but his rage had leaked through, turning them acidic.

Andrew glanced up at Neil, one eyebrow raised. He had relaxed. “Why are you so pissed?”

Instead of answering, Neil leaned down a little. Andrew got the message and tilted his head up, closing the distance between them. Neil tried to convey his reasoning through the kiss: _he hurt you, and that’s not okay. You’ve hurt too much already._

Andrew must’ve understood because he murmured _junkie_ against Neil’s lips. Neil smiled a little and pulled away.

For a few seconds, he just watched emotions flit through Andrew’s eyes. Fear, relief, gratefulness, happiness. _Love._

“Staring,” Andrew commented.

Neil hummed a laugh and nodded. “Yep. Enjoying the view.”

Andrew shoved Neil’s shoulder and looked away, but Neil didn’t miss the tiny bit of pink that darkened the tips of Andrew’s ears.

“Damn junkie,” Andrew muttered.

“You like it,”

Andrew didn’t even try to deny it.


End file.
